


break time

by thegirlwithmanynames



Category: Death Parade (Anime)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 23:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwithmanynames/pseuds/thegirlwithmanynames
Summary: in between guests, the arbiter and his assistant settle down for a chat.





	break time

“The bar is not an advisable place to sit,” he says, cleaning a glass, and she tilts her head, pulling a small grimace.

“I’m not going to fall off.” She crosses her legs and swings them gently between two stools. It never occurs to her why she’s so sure of her grace.

“It might be unclean,” he replies simply.

She shrugs. “I’ve got other copies of these clothes in my closet. They keep appearing without my having to lift a finger. It hardly matters if this gets a little dirty, right?”

A thought crosses her mind, and she hesitates for a moment. Then, she twists so that she’s facing him, arms balancing her on the flat surface of the bar. Seeing motion in his peripheral vision, he looks up, his mechanical movements ceasing as his strange eyes lock with hers.

“It’s the same for you, isn’t it?” she asks, genuinely curious. In the split-second pause she takes for a breath before continuing, it seems like the eye not hidden by his hair widens in response to her question; but she’s speaking again too soon afterwards to ask after it, and besides, his expression returns to normal so quickly that she’s left wondering whether she imagined the change. “I never see you wearing anything other than your bartender’s clothes. You don’t have any other clothes either, do you?”

Well, the _either_  isn’t exactly the truth. Aside from the clothes she wears every day, _she_  has a strange dress on one side of her closet – one that seems strangely familiar though she doesn’t know why, one that seems well-worn and loved, and yet relatively new – but for now, there isn’t a need to tell him about it. The dress is in _her_  closet, after all. And besides, it could be some kind of test for her, of her abilities as an assistant. 

If it _is_  one, he hasn’t let on. “No, I do not,” he says, resuming his task of cleaning the glass. “It would be unnecessary. I am a bartender.”

“I thought you were an arbiter,” she replies, deadpan.

His eyes catch hers for a brief moment. “I am,” he agrees. “The two are not mutually exclusive, nor do they require different attire.”

“Of course,” she sighs, turning back to face the hall with a small smile on her lips. Attempting to joke with him truly was hit or miss, but his too-serious responses were often amusing despite that. “I can’t picture you wearing anything else, anyway.”

“Humans who pass judgment wear robes. I suppose those would not be amiss for an arbiter,” comes his unexpected response a moment later, and she swings back around to stare at him with wide eyes. He is turned away, setting the glass he had been cleaning back in its rightful place.

“Are you saying you want to wear judge’s robes?”

He sets the glass down and turns to look at her, expression unchanged. “I was merely suggesting the option,” he says. “I thought it might be humorous for you to imagine.”

Startled by his remark, she lets out a quiet laugh and leans back, one hand clasping either side of the bar for support. “I suppose you’re right,” she replies, the smile on her lips now more broad. “I’m sure your manager would be more than willing to let you experiment.”

His hands spread out on the wooden surface. “Perhaps,” he concedes, but before he can continue, he straightens nearly imperceptibly. She’s seen this happen enough by now that she’s used to the motion and understands what it means.

“New guests?” she asks out of habit and courtesy. The toes of her heels touch the floor first as she slides herself slowly off the bar, and she turns sharply on them so that she can lean against it and look at him.

He nods, now back to himself. “They should be arriving momentarily.”

“Break’s over, then,” she murmurs, letting out a quiet sigh. “Shame. We get so little time to ourselves around here.”

“Once the guests depart, I’ll make you a drink.”

His expression may be impassive, but the words speak to a kindness lying somewhere deep within him. Despite herself, the smile reappears on her lips as she bows her head to him in thanks.

He hasn’t moved from his position behind the bar when she turns back to face him, already halfway into the hall.

“It’s still a pity,” she says.

“May I inquire as to what is?”

The amusement, well-hidden in her voice, is visible in the brightness of her eyes as she shrugs nonchalantly. “That these guests won’t get to see you dressed in judge’s robes, of course.”

He inclines his head to her as if to acknowledge the humour in her remark, but when he looks up, she’s already gone.


End file.
